


(you are) the song stuck in my head

by indecisively_yours



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Young Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisively_yours/pseuds/indecisively_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma has a feeling she's coming down with something; by now, she's diagnosed it as CYADN (cliche young adult novel syndrome). Although at the rate it's spreading, it's more like a disease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! So, after much deliberation I've finally decided to post the first installment of this piece! It's my first archive work, my first Captain Swan work, and my first multi-chaptered piece in almost two years. I hope you enjoy reading! 
> 
> I've developed a whole world for these two under these circumstances and I'm very eager to share it with you all. So without further ado, here it is!
> 
> Feedback, as always and all throughout this journey, is greatly appreciated!

It all starts on a calm Tuesday.

(Months later she thinks she should have marked this date down on her wall calendar above her desk.)

She spots him down the hall and can’t get her books into her locker fast enough. She’s almost done sorting and swapping for the first half of her day. One pull of a too tight notebook causes everything inside to come tumbling out.

 _Crap_.

“Need a hand there, Swan?”

 _Double crap_.

“I’m fine, Killian.”

She bends down to pick up the books and papers and everything else that came flying out because looking at him sometimes makes her feel like she’s in a cliché young adult novel.

Her life is not a cliché young adult novel.

“I insist.”

And before she can protest he’s crouched down next to her. He’s shuffling the papers together into a haphazard pile and all she can think about is the sent of his musk mixed with the soap she knows he buys.

(David had to take her grocery shopping with them one day and she saw him pick it out and since then she hasn’t been able to get it out of her mind.)

She grabs them from his grip and avoids eye contact at all cost because _I will not be a cliché young adult novel_ but it’s high school and hormones and everything’s always out of whack nowadays.

“Thank you.”

The words come out like more of a mumble. She shoves the papers and books back into her locker. It’s a problem she’ll deal with later, because being late for lunch is more acceptable than being late for first period.

“It was the honorable thing to do.”

Scoffing, she rolls her eyes. Of course, of course he’d turn his charm on her. She’s glad for the locker door momentarily blocking him from her as she composes herself and wills away the blush creeping up her neck.

“Honorable? What does Killian Jones know about honor?”

The locker door closes between them with an audible _slam_ , and she realizes the hallways are slowly emptying.

“Having dear Dave for a best mate gives way for his influence from time to time.”

It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes at that comment. So she turns to her locker and double checks the combination lock to preset the first two numbers.

“Speaking of brothers. Didn’t mine tell you never to bother me?”

“I’d hardly call this being a bother.”

“Then what would you call this?”

She dares a glance in his direction because what else does she have to lose at this moment. He’s already eaten up five minutes of her time and at this point she’ll have to hope Ruby had used Mary Margaret’s notes as a back up.

“Friendly conversation.”

She wants to wipe away the smirk that appears on his face because _no_ she is not having friendly conversation with Killian Jones in front of her locker.

“That would require us to be friends in the first place.”

“You wound me, Swan.” He places a hand over his heart, the look on his face completely over the top. “And here I thought you and I shared a bond.”

“My brother doesn’t count as a bond.”

The warning bell rings. She has exactly five minutes to walk to the other side of the school to make it on time for her first period. She could make it—if Killian would just stop wasting her time right now.

“That’s my cue to leave.”

“Afraid you’ll turn into a pumpkin at the second bell?”

It’s the second time this morning she rolls her eyes—and at him. She adjusts the straps on her backpack as she talks.

“That’s the carriage. If you’re trying to call me Cinderella, you’d probably want to make reference to my wardrobe or me losing a shoe.”

“Apologies, love. Fairytales were never my strong suit.”

“Goodbye, Killian.”

She pushes past him and begins to power walk down the hall because it’s bad enough that she has to hear his accent every time he’s over to hang out with David or for dinner.

(Ruth’s taken to inviting him over a lot lately.)

Storybrooke High was the one place she thought she could avoid him. Here she thought she could be rid of him and his accent and his face and his blue eyes and his scent and everything else that came with the Killian Jones package.

Except her brother happens to be best friends with him.

And he happens to sit on the opposite end of the lunch table with them.

(Because her best friend, Mary Margaret happens to be dating David, and heaven forbid the two of them are apart during lunch.)

Let’s not forget Gold’s chemistry class, either.

Or every other class they happen to have together.

(Because Storybrooke High has a senior class of eighty and fewer teachers than that—and that's a gross overestimation at best.)

Her life isn’t a cliché young adult novel. Nope. Furthest thing from it.

She makes it past the threshold of the double doors when feels his hand on her forearm, pulling her to a stop.

(Damn it all if she doesn’t feel chills run down her spine at the contact.)

“Swan, wait.”

She turns around at the sound of his voice. Is that sincerity she heard? She narrows her eyes at him. Something’s up. When isn’t something up?

“I’m late, Killian. What is it?”

“Well…” He hesitates. She raises a brow. “With the homecoming dance fast approaching, I’d been meaning to ask…”

There goes her heart. _What a little traitor!_ And here she was, shouting from the rooftops that no, she will not react to that charm and accent and those blue eyes and here her hormones go and do just that.

“Ask what?” Her voice leaves her like a whisper.

“If Ruby happened to be looking for someone to accompany her?”

The bell rings at that instant. Whatever Emma felt up until then quickly goes away. She doesn’t even respond to that question. _How exactly do you respond to that?_

“I’m late for class.”

It’s true. She is. However nice and understanding Miss French is does not mean that Emma wants to take advantage of that. So she just shakes her head and walks away because she actually can’t believe that happened.

(Actually, she can. It’s not the first time someone asks her for Ruby. It’s just the first time that it’s _him_.)

“Swan?”

She doesn’t dare look back as she pushes through two doors and runs upstairs.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start this off by saying that I did not intend for so much time to pass between updates. It's been a rough month, mentally, and nothing's been cooperating with me. But I'm finding myself slowly getting to a better place, which means the updates may come more steadily. 
> 
> If you're still here and you're still reading this, thank you! Without further ado, here's the chapter.

In ninth grade, when Emma learned about genetics, her teacher had the whole class make a family tree and list out their physical appearance. With this tree, they’d see which traits were passed down from generation to generation.

Emma, having arrived to Storybrooke only the year prior thought the assignment was bogus and sat in silent protest of it.

(She had spent the previous year forming the bare minimum of attachments so that when she was sent away again—and she was convinced this would happen—it wouldn’t hurt so much in the process.)

When it was time to get graded homework back, she was shocked to find one returned to her. The information filled out on the sheet wasn’t hers or any she knew.

“You’re my sister—they’re your family too. I saw that look on your face. The one you get when there’s something wrong. I figured I’d help.”

(That day she started warming up to people just a bit more.)

Years later, David’s perceptive power when it comes to Emma hasn’t grown any weaker.

So when she walks into Miss Belle’s English class that morning a few minutes late she hopes her face doesn’t reveal anything whatsoever.

David’s head perks up at the sight of her late arrival, a wordless question evident on his face. She brushes him off and heads to her seat with a low apology to her teacher.

She'll deal with him later.

.

.

.

"So he wants to take me to homecoming?"

Emma preps another arrow onto the bow, positioning her aim as best she can. The wind began to pick up at the start of class and with each shot she's had to adjust her aim.

"Everyone wants to take you to homecoming," Mary Margaret points out. She has her arrow positioned by this point and when she lets go she hits her target easily.

(It’s not lost on either of the girls how gorgeous Ruby is, giving her the advantage of dating or being single as she pleases.)

"Great shot!" Robin, their gym teacher, shouts from his stance at the targets. He gives her a thumb up and moves out of the way, seeing Ruby prep her aim.

"Yeah, but this is Killian.  _Emotionally cut off_ ,  _I'm only going to have a million friends and keep you guessing if I date people_ , Killian," Ruby points out. "If anyone else fell into that category, I'd think it's kind of special."

Emma's lips press into a tight line because of course Ruby has a point. Could that be why him asking her rubbed her the wrong way? It must be. It's the only explanation that makes sense right now.

Ruby lets go of her arrow, missing her target by a long shot and barely missing Robin at the same time.

"Ruby!"

"Sorry, Robin!"

He waves her off, cuts his losses, and moves a good distance from her.

"So what did you tell him?" Mary Margaret asks, looking over at Emma.

"Goodbye?" She offers the girls a shrug, unsure of what they expect her to say. "I was late to Miss Belle's class. She was handing out  _Moby Dick_ today."

Ruby just shakes her head as Mary Margaret preps her aim for her next shot.  _Flawless, yet again_. Emma swears she must have been some kind of badass bandit in a past life because she’s only ever picked up a bow in gym class and she’s a natural.

Emma lines up her shot, feeling a strong gust of wind the moment she eyes the target.

Next to her, Ruby turns to Mary Margaret. “You know, I might corner him during lunch. Be the one to ask him out.”

Her shot hits the bulls-eye in the blink of an eye.

.

.

.

With thoughts of this morning completely far from her mind Emma walks into the cafeteria with her head held high. She knows she won’t be able to avoid Killian, not when they sit together at lunch.

What would normally be her spending all of her time focused on some conversation with Tink or Graham while completely oblivious to Killian’s presence is the opposite of that. For today, he’s pretty much the only thing she can focus on right now. Or well, focus on not focusing on, if she’s being honest.

(He hasn’t fazed her. Not one bit.)

Any and all focus she had on trying to ignore Killian’s laughter at the end of the table goes out the window when she spots Ruby get up from her seat and take the vacant space next to him.

(Part of her wants to be mad at her best friend in that utterly cliché way, but she can’t be—not when Ruby laughs in that way that can charm the pants off of anyone in a five-mile radius.)

She mentally calls the focusing and ignoring quits when she hears Ruby bring up homecoming.

“I’m going to get some chocolate milk,” Emma tells Mary Margaret, trying her best to slip out of the bench without her foot getting caught.

Easier said than done. Her boot gets caught and she makes a frustrated noise to realize it; when she looks up, she locks eyes with Killian. Any and all thoughts relating to him are pushed aside in favor of her mission to stop letting this morning get under her skin.

When she returns back to the table with a carton and an apple, her eyes land on him again. This time, he’s laughing at something Ruby’s said. His eyes look away from the brunette to stop on Emma, watching as she sits down.

She takes a hard bite out of her apple while she keeps contact with him, watching as he breaks it first.

Seconds later, Tink, who had been missing since the start of lunch, appears beside her.

“Party at my place,” she says, and hands out still warm from the library printer invitations to everyone at the table.

“Tink this party’s tonight,” Mary Margaret says as she holds up the invitation. “I thought parties happened on weekends.”

“My mother’s out of town tonight,” the sprite girl explains. “Plus, in some colleges Tuesdays are the Fridays of the week.”

“We’re in high school,” Emma says, taking another bite of her apple. “And I thought you were kidding about this party thing when you mentioned it.”

Tink throws Emma a hard look, one that Emma returns with a small shrug in response.

“Then think of this as a social gathering on the night my mother’s out of town,” she tries again, turning the conversation away from Emma and Mary Margaret to the boys on the other side of the table.

The way Tink’s eyes sparkle lets everyone know that there’s no use arguing with her because  _yes_ ,  _they will be making an appearance at her place later on tonight_ and  _isn’t it fortunate that my mother owns the place on the opposite side of town than our principal?_

Killian chimes in with a, “We wouldn’t miss it for the world, love,” and Tink rushes over to press a kiss to his cheek before she’s off to the next table to distribute invitations and make the same speech.

Their eyes meet again and this time, she’s the one to look away, feeling the blush start to creep up her neck at the sight of being caught.

(She doesn’t know where these frustrations are coming from but for now she chocks it all up to hormones and the position of the moon and maybe some other astrological phenomenon only experienced in Maine. Because there’s no way— _no way_  her life is becoming a  _cliché young adult novel_.)

(She won’t accept that.)


End file.
